


It's 5 O'clock In The Morning

by sunfirestrike



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, I wrote this at 3:00 AM and it has surpassed the standard for a shitty 3:00 AM fic so here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:43:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunfirestrike/pseuds/sunfirestrike
Summary: Based on the song Who'd Have Known by Lily Allen





	

Rain was softly falling onto the window balcony lulling you into a sense of safety. The soft buzz of the TV keeps you awake just enough so that you’ll hear the jingle-jangle of keys in the lock when he gets home.

It’s 5 o’clock in the morning when you hear the lock turn and the door open. A warm smile crosses your face when you hear Steve trying to quietly sneak into the room without waking you up. Your eyebrows crinkle together just slightly as he comes to lean forward on the back of the couch. He doesn’t smell of vintage aftershave, or mint shampoo. No, he smells like gauze, and antiseptic. He’s injured, you realize.

You hear him chuckle lightly as a hand comes down to hold your cheek, “I know you’re awake” he mumbles to you, voice quiet as if he doesn’t want to disturbed the beautifully domestic scene of you in your fluffiest PJ’s, curled up in a blanket, with Parks and Rec on in the background, and a class of red wine on the coffee table. Your response is to nuzzle your face into his hand, and send him a sleepy smile.

“And I know you’re hurt.” A pointed look in your eyes. Steve sighs, and hangs his head, hand never leaving your face as his thumb brushes your cheek repeatedly in a soothing motion. You pull the warm blanket from your form as your body yelps in protest from the sudden cold air, and stand. You walk around the couch, and put your arm around his shoulder, leading him to the stairs up to your bedroom. You sigh as you can see the outline of gauze around his stomach from under his shirt.

Once you get him into bed, you lay down on his other side, and start drawing patterns on his chest. He seems to be about to dose off to sleep when you ask your question.

“Who’d you save this time?” He raises his eyebrows a bit, but doesn’t question you about your reasoning for asking.

“Barton. Rolling away from a switch blade to the gut. It’s just a flesh wound though.” You sigh, and shake your heard, laying your head down on his shoulder continuing to trace outlines on his chest, trying to match it’s rise and fall.

“You save everyone, that’s your thing, I get it.” You look up at him through worried eyes to find he’s already staring back at you, “But who saves you?”

“You do.” He replies without even hesitating. You laugh a little, but it’s dry, no real humor in it.

“I’m being serious,” you tell him. “You’ve seen me fight, I’m shit. I work in IT for crying out loud!” He chuckles lovingly, a peaceful smile on his face, and a look in his blue eyes like he coming home for the first time in years tells you, that he is, in fact being serious.

“Maybe, but I don’t need another fighter. Maybe sometimes I just need a little peace.”


End file.
